


red lips and rosy cheeks

by listentotheink



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hipster Harry, M/M, Please dont kill me, and an empty bank account, and ends up with a louis, and stuff, and uni, based on a tumblr au, being zayn, but loving him all the same, from falling in a puddle, hating louis, im sorry, oh and zayn is there, there's no sexy times, while louis suffers, who goes to a record shop for a gift, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listentotheink/pseuds/listentotheink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry is kind of a hipster and Louis is kind of in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red lips and rosy cheeks

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in a while, and it's based on an AU I linked within the fic. Hope you guys like it :)

based on [this](http://cuddlelourry.tumblr.com/post/125791524302/headcars-banging-you-look-so-cool-harry-ugh-i) au. 

 

* * *

 

“Oh, _fuck me_.”

The words leave his mouth, and Louis feels the whole of Oxford Street stop and stare as he falls into a puddle on the sidewalk. He lands hard on his knee and accepts his defeat as his falls, face first into the murky water. No one stops to help him, because why would they? Maybe if he holds his breath a little longer, stays still just for just enough time, someone will think he’s drowning and offer assistance..

The fact that he’s actually contemplating this should probably tell you how his day is going. He hates London sometimes.

Alright, no. That’s nothing but a boldfaced lie, but let him suffer for a moment, okay? He’s just fallen into the world’s biggest puddle, and not one person could be arsed to help him up. It also had to happen at the most opportune time, as well. Not like he was twenty feet from his destination or anything. Bloody hell.

He stands and bows with a flourish, nodding at the onlookers who are hiding their laughter behind their hands, and glances at the door to Remix Record Shop.

“I’ll be here all night,” he says. He pushes a sopping strand of his hair off his forehead and bows once more before ducking into the shop behind him.

The second he’s through the door, he throws his bag on the counter and starts to dig through it, hauling his laptop out just to double check that it survived his fall. He can do without his textbooks and notes, even though he’ll have a difficult time selling the books back at the end of the semester since they’ve been water damaged.

Not like the bookshop at school was going to give him more than a fiver for used copies, anyway. He swears up and down that Zayn buys and sells used records for more than he gets for actual educational material. Fucking hipster bullshit is what that is. Have to act all mysterious like. Half the time they’re too buried in a Kerouac novel to give a shit about their surroundings.. like people falling into puddles and ruining their school books. Louis huffs, lays his books on the counter.

There’s always Amazon, and those idiots buying from him wouldn’t suspect a thing.

Not surprisingly, Zayn (the only reason Louis spends any time at all around this godforsaken place) isn’t anywhere to be found amongst the stacks of records. He’s probably gone on “break”, which is just his code for ditching for a smoke when it gets too quiet around the shop. Seems like he’s on “break” every five minutes, these days. It’s been slow, the steady stream of hipsters deciding to take their business elsewhere.

Like Shoreditch. That place is fucking crawling with hipsters.

“Malik!” Louis barks. He hops up onto the counter and kicks his shoes off to inspect how waterlogged his feet are. “Come let me complain to you!”

“Don’t be so fucking loud, mate,” Zayn says as he emerges from behind one of the stacks. He’s holding a stack of Fleetwood Mac records in his arms and Louis scoffs. “Christ could hear you all the way in the back. No wonder no one ever comes around anymore.”

“No one worth note comes around, mate.” Louis says. He plucks _Rumours_ out of Zayn’s arms and inspects it, shifts it from hand to hand like it’s a treasure. “And when they do, they don’t buy good stuff like this. They buy that absolute _shit_ they play on Radio One.”

“Oi,” Zayn says, swiping the record out of Louis’ hand. “Some of us like that shit they play on Radio One. Including yourself, most of the time. Just because you listen to Fleetwood and the Beatles instead of Calvin Harris and Megan Trainor doesn’t give you superior taste.”

“No, it just gives me impeccable taste. Calvin Harris is a dick, anyway.”

“Oh, you know him, do you?”

Louis picks at a loose bit of skin on his toe and flicks it to the floor before stuffing his foot back in his shoe. “Obviously.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and returns to shelving his massive armload of records while Louis follows him around like a lost puppy, keeping up a steady stream of conversation even though Zayn mainly responds in hums and grunts. Louis is used to it. Zayn is his best mate, and it has always been like this, even when they were kids.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Zayn says when Louis leans against the counter, watching while Zayn organises the bills in the cash drawer.

“If I did, do you think I would be wasting my time here?”

Zayn rolls his eyes again (which is also a common occurrence when Louis is around, not that that’s surprising) and the little bell above the shop door tinkles. Louis ignores it at first, doesn’t pay attention to the soft tap of boot heels as he snatches a piece of scrap paper from behind the till and starts to doodle.

“I have to go do a deposit.” Zayn says. “I won’t be gone long, and for the love of all things holy, do _not_ touch _anything_.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Louis says with a devilish smirk. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m not gonna ruin anything.. Probably.”

“If I get fired today, Louis, you’re in charge of rent for the next six months.”

“Oh fuck off, I’m not gonna get you fired. Jesus.”

Zayn flips him off and disappears into the back room again, leaving Louis alone.

Louis watches him go with a small smirk on his face before he hops over the counter and makes himself comfy on the stool behind the register. It takes him less than three seconds to realise that it’s one of the spinny stools and he starts to swivel his hips to build some momentum. He starts spinning at full speed, and even makes a game of it, seeing how much of the Remix Records return policy poster he can read with each rotation.

This is his life.

He’s in the middle of a SuperSpin 3000TM when he hears someone clear their throat from behind him. He kicks his feet out, catching his ankle around the edge of the counter, and his stool immediately stops. Only, his body keeps moving and he crashes to the floor.

“Bloody hell!” he groans, rubbing his forehead. He leans his hand on the stool, drags himself to his feet, and practically collapses again when he sees Sparkly Green Eyes staring at him with an amused Dimple Smile.

The universe has to hate him, surely.

“Are you alright?” The boy in front of him asks with a voice that’s entirely too deep and rocky to be fair. He flicks his hair out of his face with long, slim, piano player fingers, and Louis feels a rush of blood flow directly to his crotch.

“No, I’m Louis,” he says. Greek God with the curls and the sharp jaw and the plaid flannel shirt that’s too big for him raises an eyebrow.

“And I’m Harry?” He says, confused. He sets a record down on the table and coughs. “Not exactly what I was asking, though.”

Louis is too busy staring at the boy -- no. MAN’S -- shirt hangs open. Christ is that a chest piece tattoo? Louis wants to lick it. Amongst other things.

“--If you’re okay,” Harry says. “You fell quite hard, there. Looks like it might have hurt.”

“Y-yeah.” Louis says. His throat has suddenly gone dry, so he licks his lips. “Yeah, I did fall quite hard. But luckily I’ve got the biggest ass in all of London. Good cushion.”

Harry just nods. Louis stares at his lips, watches them form the words “I see” without really listening to him. This isn’t fair. Today is a day he looks his absolute worst, and Mick Jagger’s son walks in with his big red pouty lips and his fucking _dimples_ and Louis has had enough of the universe being so cruel.

He’s going to say just as much, but the boy clears his throat and Louis decides that his inner rantings about the Universe being a dick is something to save for another day. Besides, Harry clearly thinks that Louis works here, and after the worst day like **_EVER_**  (bold, italicised, capitalised. It's necessary) he might as well play along. Zayn’s taking longer than usual and he doesn’t want this beautiful creature to walk out on him just yet. So he decides on:

“Something I can help you with, then?”

“Erm, yeah,” Harry says, resting his hand on the record for effect. Louis swallows hard and tries not to stare for too long, tries not to imagine what those fingers would feel like, how the cold metal of his ring would catch -- God, he’s a slut. Harry clears his throat, and Louis snaps back. “I’d like to buy this please.”

Louis pauses, looks at the register, then at the record.

Really. How hard can it be?

“I’m new,” he lies. He picks up the record and twirls it in his hands, pretending to check it over while he’s actually spying on the lad’s music taste. “So if I fuck up, it’s your fault for trusting me.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Harry replies with another Dimple Smile that nearly sends Louis to the floor. Again.

Slowly, with knowledge of the fact that Zayn could most definitely lose his job for this, Louis scans the record through, presses total, and Harry swipes his card. Louis reaches for a bag, picking the record up carefully.

“Good album, that.” Louis says, he stuffs Harry’s receipt in the bag before passing it across. “Dan Smith is an absolute babe. Voice of an angel, as well.”

“I’m more of a Matty Healey man, myself.” Harry says with a shrug. “With a side of Ricky Wilson.”

“A man after my heart,” Louis says with a grin, Harry returns it easily and tucks his wallet into his back pocket. Louis hears him kick his boots at the floor, can feel the hesitation seeping out of Harry’s skin. He’s just about to open his mouth to say something that could only be ridiculous when Harry beats him to it.

“See you around, then.” Harry says in a rush. He turns and Louis stares after him as he walks out, then collapses forward onto the counter just as Zayn decides to reappear.

“I’m in love, Zayn,” he says wistfully, still staring at the door. Zayn scoffs and drops another box of stock onto the counter, barely missing Louis’ arm. “Oi! Watch it!”

“Louis, you’re not in love. I promise,” Zayn replies, ignoring the fact that he almost cut Louis’ arm off with a box. Louis watches him cut the box open and even decides to put in minimal effort to help him empty it.

“But I am!” Louis says indignantly. “He’s so tall and handsome as hell, and he’s got these red lips and rosy cheeks --”

“Louis.”

“Zayn.”

“Louis.”

“Zayn.”

“Louis,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Just go home, yeah? I’ll be back in a few hours and we can have a cuddle and a heart to heart about your new love.”

“You’re so lovely for indulging me.”

“Anything for you, babes. Now go.”

Louis places a sloppy kiss on Zayn’s cheek and tucks his book away into his bag. They’ve all but dried now, which is a good thing for his grades, bad thing for whoever he cons into buying them. (He’s skilled in the art of selling back textbooks, as mentioned). He hooks his bag over his shoulder, hops back over the counter and is halfway to the door when he turns back to Zayn.

“Can you get a take away?” he asks. “I think we’re out of literally all of our food. I haven’t had time to get on Sainsbury’s to order.”

“I’ll just buy from the chicken shop, yeah? I’ve got like, a tenner to my name.”

 

A few days later, Zayn is sitting on the couch smoking when Louis comes in, dragging his bag across the floor. He’s had long days, sure. But uni and a four-hour-turned-eight-hour shift at Nando’s?

He simply collapses, flops into Zayn’s lap, and groans.

“‘Ve got something that’ll cheer you up.” Zayn says, carding his fingers through Louis’ hair. His voice is as nonchalant as ever, so Louis snatches the joint from his hand and takes a drag, then two more. It’s strong today, he feels the effects almost immediately and he relaxes.

“C’mon, then. Lay it on me.”

“Your _wildest dream_ came in today,” Zayn takes the joint back. “Looking for you, yeah?”

“Did he say why?” Zayn shakes his head. “Did you see his lips? And did he do the thing with the dimples? What about his hair? I want to pull it you know.”

“Only that he appreciated all your help, which I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but that’s it. He said that, then left. Said he would stop by when you were there again?”

“Sure it’s nothing.” Louis says quietly, hoping the disappointment doesn’t shine through his voice.

 

Louis goes to the record shop every day for the next three months. Each day, like clockwork, Harry comes in at the exact time Zayn has to do the deposit. Louis discovers a lot about him within those months. He prefers to have his shirts as open as they can be (which gives Louis a lot of heart attacks), he wears jeans that are sinfully tight and hug his little bum in all the right ways (which results in even more heart attacks). His eyes light up when he talks about his family, and he dimple smiles when he tells stories a lot.

He also learns that _Silver Springs_ is his favourite Fleetwood Mac song, and that he loves The xx. He learns that _A Sky Full of Stars_ reminds him of his mum and summer nights long forgotten after four hour drives to Manchester for as many gigs as they could get to, especially when his sister was home. He appreciates a good bit of Drake but would rather have Keith Richard’s solo albums on repeat all day. That he falls asleep to Bon Iver and the Kooks have been the soundtrack to his summer for the last eight years.

He also buys a lot of vinyl. But who is Louis to judge?

 

It comes to a head on a Friday, when Louis is spinning in his stool, spitting his gum in the air and catching it. Harry peeks between the stacks every few moments, smiles at him fondly before turning back to whatever he wants.

Louis has his back turned and is reading over a training manual (since he might as fucking well work here now) when a throat clears behind him.

“Ready to check out, baby cakes?” Louis asks, spinning around in his chair.

Only it’s not Harry standing there. It’s a girl who can’t be more than sixteen, nervously rocking back and forth on her toes.

“Hi!” Her voice shakes a little. “I have a question, please. I’m looking for an album with a song on it that goes _lalala la lala lalalalala_ \--”

“Do you know any of the words? Even the year?” Louis asks. He glances up at harry, who is watching him, amused. Louis sticks his tongue out at him, and the girl screws her mouth up in thought before shaking her head. “It would just make it easier to google the lyrics or something.”

“Maybe the song goes _dehdehdehdehdeh waiting for you dehdehdehdehdeh_.”

“D’you mean Welcome to New York by Taylor Swift?” Louis asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“God no.” The girl says, pointing at her shirt. Louis hadn’t been paying attention, but it clearly said “inxs” in big, red letters. “Do I look like a ‘Swiftie’?” she asks. Her voice sounds like she’s just found a dead skunk in the road.

“You were clearly humming a Taylor Swift song, so.”

“I wasn’t," she shakes her head quickly. “Even if I was, that’s not what I’m looking for. I’ve just remembered that I’m looking for Divlje Jagode!”

Louis eyes widen and he chokes on air.

“Is that some kind of disease?!”

He hears Harry snort from somewhere in the stacks and he counts that as a win, gives himself a mental high five.

“No!” she looks offended. She looks like she’s going to fly across the counter and skin him. Time slows down. He has a choice to make. Get murdered by a teenage girl, or admit that his… friendship? Relationship? Bromance?... his.. thing… with Harry has been built on a lie.

The girl opens her mouth. Louis reacts.

“I DON’T BLOODY WORK HERE.” He says, a bit louder than he should have.

“I’ve seen you here more than once,” she shouts back, she folds her arms over her chest like she’s caught him in this massive lie. “You were behind the counter! How can you be behind the counter if you don’t work here?!”

“I can promise you I don’t work here,” Louis says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve only been pretending because Harry is well fit and I would like to date the shit out of him! Zayn is the one who works here! Ask him!”

Speak of the devil, he chooses that exact moment to come around the corner.

“What?” he asks.

“Him!” Louis says, he points at Zayn. “He’s the one!”

Zayn looks confused. Harry looks confused. Louis hides under the counter so he can avoid both of them.

After half an hour of sitting under the counter and contemplating everything he could have ever possibly done wrong in his life that would make this happen, he figures that Harry has probably given up and left. He doesn’t hear the gentle click of his boots on the floor anymore, or the soft sound of him humming, so he decides it’s safe to stand again.

“So you don’t work here, then?”

Louis lets out a breath and turns slowly, before he loses his mind and starts talking in a rush.

“I can explain. Well I mean I can try to explain but you’ll probably think I’m a proper idiot and I just. I mean that day you first came in I fell into a puddle and needed somewhere to set my stuff and Zayn’s my best mate so he lets me dick around sometimes but --”

“You seriously don’t work here?

Louis can’t lie. Not this time. He’s spent too much of the last three months, and put too much of his heart on the line to keep this up. So he does what any normal person would do: He hangs his head in shame and sighs.

“No.”

He looks up when he hears Harry start to giggle, and when their eyes meet, Harry is actually beaming at him, dimples and all.

“We’re both liars then because I don’t have a record player. The first time I came in it was for a gift. My mate’s birthday was that week and I was last minute shopping.”

“So why have you been coming and spending all your money, then?”

“To see you, obviously,” Harry says with a shrug. “I’ve got stacks of vinyls, and my flat has a proper aesthetic now.”

“You could have asked me to dinner like a normal person.”

“I didn’t even think you liked me!”

“Of course I do.” Louis says. “Zayn could have gotten fired. I risked my friend’s job for you.”

“I feel proud, but I shouldn’t, should I?”

“Not in the slightest.”

 

Harry is cooking dinner in just an apron when Louis gets into their flat. His back is to the door and Louis takes a moment to just admire his boy’s bum before moving through to stand behind him.

“If you weren’t cooking, I’d bend you over the table right now,” he murmurs. Harry shivers and Louis slides his hands down his naked back with a grin. “I’ve got presents, though. Since it’s been one year since we both discovered that we’re good liars but also idiots.”

“Shall I put this on the backburner then?” Harry asks, turning in Louis’ arms. Louis grins, staring at Harry's lips, still as red and pouty as they were a year ago. “So I can unwrap you?”

“How dare you think so low of me?” Louis asks, teasing. “To think I actually spent money on a real gift that’s not in anyway sexual, and you don’t even want to wine and dine me. You wound me.”

“But sex gifts are the best gifts.”

“Nice nursery rhyme, Mother Goose,” Louis says with a grin. “Finish up here and I’ll bring your gifts, yeah?”

“Haven’t even given me a kiss,” Harry pouts. Louis smiles, raises on his toes and presses his lips against Harry’s.

“Finish cooking,” he says with a grin. He darts out of the room before Harry can protest, and returns with two packages, one is small and slim, the other is a medium sized box.

“Please tell me you didn’t spend like, a million quid on gifts.”

“Just open them, c’mon,” Louis grins. He must look absolutely mad, but he’s so excited he can’t help it.

“Alright, alright,” Harry says with a laugh. He picks up the slim package first, his voice teasing when he continues. “Ooh, I love calendars.”

“You arse, it’s not a calendar. Bloody hell, gimme a bit o’ credit.”

Harry slits the paper open and the pale case of the Rumours vinyl falls into his hand.

“I can’t believe out of all the records you bought in the last year this wasn’t one of them. This was our connecting link. Without Mick and Stevie we wouldn’t be Harry and Louis.”

“This is one of the albums I actually would have wanted to listen to,” Harry replies. “I don’t have a record player so I never thought there was a point.”

Louis nods at the bigger box.

“Open that one, then. Go on.”

“You didn’t.” Harry states, tearing into the paper. The word CROSLEY is the first thing that Louis sees beneath the mess of shredded paper, and Harry’s eyes light up.

The next few minutes are a blur, and before Louis knows it, he and Harry are dancing around the kitchen while _You Make Loving_ Fun plays in the background.

And Louis’ world is spinning, spinning, spinning but Harry and the music are in technicolor digital sound.

It’s Perfect. Louis thinks. Perfect.

  
  


 

_fin._


End file.
